


The Mirror Cracked

by minnabird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnabird/pseuds/minnabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2000. Voldemort and his Death Eaters have been in power for seventeen years, but the fight continues. In France, a strange man turns up on Fleur Delacour's doorstep and turns her life upside down. In a different world, what were the odds that Bill and Fleur would still end up fighting side by side?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror Cracked

Fleur walked out her front door one blue morning and nearly tripped over a hunched figure. In the next moment, she found herself crowded back against the door, a warm palm pressed so tightly across her mouth that her teeth dug into her lower lip. “Be quiet,” a hoarse voice said.

Fleur reached into her pocket for her wand, and the man’s grip on her eased.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“Too late,” she snapped, still shaken.

“Sorry.” He drew back. She could see now that he was tall and thin. Long strands of red hair fell into a face that looked almost haggard with fatigue, and he wore a dragonskin jacket over badly ripped blue jeans and a t-shirt. The effect, she thought, was altogether more shaggy than romantic. Worse, he spoke French with an English accent: the English were trouble.

“Just don’t make a fuss, I’m begging you,” the man added, and swayed. Fleur’s suspicion cracked, and she reached out to catch him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. In answer, he tugged up the hem of his shirt. A strip of raw, blistered skin snaked across his side and belly, its edges a sickly-looking yellow. “You’d better come in,” she said.

She sat him down in the kitchen, and asked him to take off his jacket and shirt. He obeyed, sinking into a chair. She revised her opinion of his situation: instead of staring ribs, which she had expected, he had well-muscled arms, and a thin scar cut over his collarbone. Not, perhaps, a fugitive, then. A fighter?

When she had done all she could, having reduced the weal to merely slightly shiny and pink, she looked up at his face. “How did this happen?” she asked.

His eyes focused on her face, sizing her up. After a pause, he said, “Death Eaters. I suppose you know what those are?”

Fleur knew. Fancy any witch or wizard in Europe not knowing! After seventeen years of Voldemort’s reign of terror in Britain, everyone had heard his name, and read countless stories of the atrocities committed by his Ministry. The Death Eaters were the worst of the lot, the inner circle who held all the highest positions.

“Death Eaters? Around here?” she asked, alarmed. Death Eaters and their ilk were meant to stay safely on their side of the Channel, not take up residence in her neighborhood.

“Don’t you know who owns the big house by the lake?” The man ran his fingers over what was left of his wound, then pulled his shirt on.

“Whoever owns it didn’t exactly join the local Knitting Coven,” she said, rather defensively. “I’ve never actually seen them.”

“The Lestranges keep it as a second residence,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, swallowing hard. It explained some things, though. She had always thought the owner had an awful lot of house guests for a recluse.

The man shrugged his jacket on, then stood up. He smiled at her. “I’m Bill, by the way,” he said. “Thanks for your help, but I ought to be going.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Wait,” she said, following him.

“Don’t bother seeing me out,” he said.

She ran to cut him off, placing her arm across the door. She frowned sternly at him. “Will you be all right?” she asked. “Do you have a place to go?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I’ll work something out.”

“You need a rest,” she said. “Stay here for a few hours?”

“I just told you I was injured in a fight with Death Eaters.”

“So?” Her eyes flashed. “They aren’t in England. They have no business here.”

Their eyes met, and held. Heat bloomed in Fleur’s stomach. She told herself she had a better reason to be helping him, though she could not, at this moment, think of it.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said, and started to push past her. She reached up and closed a hand around the back of his neck, then leaned up to kiss him. He stopped, stock still and stiff for a moment. Then he leaned down to return the kiss. She could feel him relaxing against her, his body warm against hers.

 _That stopped him,_  she thought.

It was easy to lose herself in the moment, but she had to coax Bill, with kisses and touches and murmured words, to forget whatever had him running. When he finally pushed her back onto her bed, she grinned, triumphant.

Later, when he lay snoring next to her, tangled in her sheets, she had time to think. How on earth had it come to this: seducing odd strangers? Never mind that she had been partially motivated by convincing him to get some rest. As far as she knew, he was dangerous, though her instincts said otherwise. Even if he was what he seemed to be, how did that reflect on her?

He was fighting people she knew to be the most vile sort of extremist. She was living a comfortable life, in a boring but well-paying part-time job, and could and did use her looks to get her way, as she had tonight. Not that there was anything wrong with any of that - she wasn’t ashamed of herself, exactly - but with the world as it was, weren’t there better things she could be doing with her life?

Not that she had any idea what those were. She pushed away those thoughts and turned over. She might as well go back to sleep; it was her day off, after all.

 

* * *

Fleur woke to the startling crash of a window breaking. She and Bill tumbled out of bed, throwing on clothes and grabbing wands. They ran into the living room together and Fleur immediately had to duck a streak of bright yellow light. Bill engaged one of the dark figures in the room in a conflagration of red and orange spellwork. Fleur regained her balance and deflected a spell from another attacker. Dueling had never been her best subject, and she had never put it to the test like this. A cold fist of panic closed around her stomach, but she managed to stop the next curse as well, and held her own for a little bit. She flung a Stunning spell at the man, who dodged, right into Bill’s own Stunner. Fleur looked up and found that Bill had already subdued the other two - there had only been three, then.

“Are they dead?” she asked, pointing to the other two.

Bill shook his head and set to conjuring ropes around the attackers. “I need a place to hide them for a time, though,” he said. “I’m sorry I brought this on you. I should have gone.”

Fleur shook her head. “The damage is done. They’re with the Lestranges, aren’t they?” She nodded to the figures on the floor.

“They are. I probably left a trail a mile wide,” Bill said, frowning.

Fleur swallowed hard. Others would know Bill had come here, then - dangerous people. She hadn’t realized they would be able to track him down when she convinced him to stay.

“The old mill,” she said, her mind presenting the perfect hiding spot. “No one ever goes there - it’s half collapsed.”

Bill nodded. “I’ll leave you in peace, then.”

“Are you mad?” Fleur said. “More might follow. I don’t want to be here when that happens. I’ll help you.” The last was a leap, and probably not the smartest one, but it meant she could do  _something._  Besides, she wanted to know just what he was doing fighting Death Eaters here, and the only way to find out was by going with him.

Before he could protest, she held out her wand and said, “ _Mobilicorpus!_ ” The body of the man she had fought rose into the air. Bill took charge of the other two.

“Lead on, then,” he said. Fleur smiled grimly to herself. He was probably remembering the last time he had argued with her.

They made a strange procession, walking along the sunny road to the river, and she was glad they met no one. Soon, she led Bill onto a small dirt path that wound away from the road, through a riot of tall grasses, spring wildflowers and spiny bushes. The bushes grew to trees, the flowers to wild weeds, and the sun filtered away, leaving them in a hushed shade. The old mill rose suddenly out of the green, a frowning hulk of grey, weathered wood, its wheel broken. “Here,” she said, and they pushed closer, under an awning of reaching branches.

The attackers landed on the ground with soft thumps, and Fleur turned to look at Bill.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Bill. “I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

“It’s not all mine to tell,” he said, frowning at her.

“What are you, then? Resistance fighter? Criminal?” she asked, relentless. Over the walk, her fears had built up, especially her shock at Death Eaters breaking into her home, which she had always thought was safe. Now it translated to something very like anger, and there was no one to take it out on but Bill.

“I’m not a thief or a murderer, if that’s what you mean by criminal.” He sighed.”I’m a resistance fighter, yes,” he said, and hunkered on the ground. “I’m not alone, obviously. But it’s difficult...there’s hardly any of us left with the will and the ability to fight. So many dead, or fled to the Continent.”

“You haven’t fled,” Fleur said.

“No.”

“Why  _not?_ ” she asked.

He looked up at her sharply, his face flushing, his eyes full of life as she had only seen them briefly, in her bed that morning. “Because it’s the right thing to do - fighting them. There was a prophecy, did you know that? We were supposed to have a Chosen One, the only match for You-Know-Who. He killed all the candidates.” He scowled. “Well, so what. We’ve still got a choice: run, or fight. I’d rather fight.” He looked down at his hands. “Mind, either I come up with a new plan fast, or I’ll have to go home and hope another opportunity comes.”

Fleur looked at him. “You did have a plan, then?”

“Before they killed Sturgis, anyway,” he said bitterly. She reached across, taking one of his hands between hers. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Thanks for...everything,” he said.

They sat in silence for a while, Fleur frowning slightly as she thought. Finally she asked, “What was the plan?”

 

* * *

She hadn’t meant to get involved. She really hadn’t, but there had been that nagging voice in the back of her head:  _Are you really going to just leave this alone and go back to your normal life? All your high ideals - is this all you measure up to in the end?_

Now she crouched near the edge of the trees, staring out over the lake to the house beyond. It was strange to imagine that such a house held dark magic. It rose over drifts of pale flowers, the setting sun turning its white walls a warm peach color.

“We’re looking for a golden cup,” Bill had said, drawing the shape on the ground under the trees. Fleur had looked at it, trying to picture it in metal, not scrawled lines in the dirt. She shuddered as she remembered what he had told her about what it was. Heavenly as the house looked, they were going into it to find an object out of nightmares: a Horcrux.

She looked down at the vial in her hand. “Are you sure it will work?” she said.

Bill nodded. “Our best potioneer made it. Just remember to put the hair in.”

Fleur screwed up her nose. She had been trying to forget what taking the potion would involve. She was already wearing baggy robes taken off one of their attackers.

They waited until the sun fell below the horizon and the sky darkened, and then Fleur uncapped the potion and dropped a hair in. It turned a noxious green, and she pinched her nose before swallowing it down. “That’s disgusting,” she said, then clutched her stomach as her body expanded upwards and outwards.

Within a few moments, she had transformed into a burly Death Eater. This one had a beard, and she grimaced as she touched her chin. “I’ll be glad to be myself again,” she said. She glanced at Bill, who seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. “All right, have your laugh, before we walk into that nest of snakes,” she said sharply.

“No, no.” He took a deep breath and his face went calm, neutral. “Let’s go.”

Fleur grabbed hold of his arm, and gave every impression of hauling him along as they made their way along the edge of the lake to the house. She half-expected sounds of carousing and coarse laughter, doubtless informed by the stories she had read as a child, but the house was dark and silent. Even as she opened the front door, she met no challenge. She glanced back, frowning, but all she could see was the still lake, silvered by the light of the full moon.

“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Are they asleep?”

“I don’t know, but let’s take advantage of it.” Bill nodded towards the foyer visible through the open door, and they moved forward. “Downstairs first,” he said.

They went through the downstairs, opening doors, looking for one that was locked. The one thing they knew about the Horcrux’s location was that it would be protected. Fleur felt as if she was in a dream: the only thing they found was empty rooms and silence.

Suddenly, out rang a chilling howl, the hunger in it provoking an instant prey-like urge to run.

“From that way,” Bill said, pointing down the hallway to rooms they hadn’t reached yet. Even as he spoke, a dark shape burst through a doorway with a tremendous crash, splinters of wood flying around it. “Run!” he said. “I’ll hold it off.”

She got only a glimpse of fur and fang before she turned and fled. She stopped at the front door, glancing back uncertainly, then up the stairs. The Horcrux could be there - and this could be Bill’s only chance at it, having been caught infiltrating the house. She would be safer leaving, but…

 _Are you going to do the safe thing, or the right thing?_  The question floated to the surface of her mind, unbidden.

That decided her. She turned and ran upstairs, turning each knob as quickly as she could, until finally she came to a door that was locked. From below, she could hear more terrible howls, and she had to gather herself before casting the spell to unlock the door. To her surprise, it unlocked immediately. Maybe this wasn’t the room. She opened the door anyway, to look.

The room was bare, wood-panelled, with a heavy wooden table in the center. On it sat a golden basin. Fleur frowned. Bill had described a cup, but perhaps their information had been a little bit wrong. She stepped forward, cautiously, but no guarding magics activated. This was all wrong: it should be more difficult.

When she was close enough to look into the basin, she saw it was filled with a clear liquid. There was little light in the room, but what little moonlight filtered in sparked and gleamed off the liquid, as if it were made of diamonds. Through the glittering, the shape of a golden cup swam into view.

The Horcrux.

Without thinking, Fleur reached into the bowl, and a flash of light blinded her. When her vision cleared, she saw a high tower, with a window high up. The light was just daylight. In the window, she could clearly see her own face, looking bored and listless.

The Fleur in the window perked up as a young man appeared at the bottom of the tower. His face was vague, instantly forgettable, but he poured out praises. Time slipped by in a dreamlike fashion, skipping and rushing, and she saw countless men at the foot of the tower, admiring, cajoling, while the Fleur in the tower beamed at each of them.

 _That’s not me,_  she thought in disgust.

“Isn’t it?” called a voice: herself, leaning out of the window, a catty smile on her face.

“No,” Fleur said, stubbornly.

The flirtations of five years played out, ghost-like, in the air before her. Disappointed exes littered the ground like bodies on a battlefield. The Fleur in the tower called out mockingly, “Are you sure about that?”

“I’ll prove it!” Fleur shouted, and reached out, blindly, sure she was still standing in the room in reality. Sharp edges dug into her fingers, and the liquid burned like lava, but her hand closed around the cup, and she threw herself back.

She was on the carpeted floor of the room, gasping for breath, the Horcrux clutched in one hand. From below, she heard a howl. That jerked her to her feet, and she ran out of the room and down the stairs. She wanted to run straight out of the house, but Bill was still dealing with the creature - she hoped.

A hoarse scream proved her right, and she lurched forward, towards him. A dark mass came into sight, bent over a figure on the ground. “Get away from him!” she cried. The creature turned, and she realized it was a huge wolf, a feral gleam in its eyes. No, not a wolf - a werewolf. It started towards her, and she quickly cast a Confundus Charm. The werewolf gave a great shudder and stumbled, and Fleur launched herself forward, starting to drag Bill away while it was befuddled. She saw a lot of blood before she had to look away, resisting the urge to gag. Bill moaned.

“Shh,” she said, glancing up at the werewolf, which was shaking its head violently. “I got the Horcrux. Let’s get you out of here.”

“F-f…” Bill said, and Fleur hushed him again, but he reached up to clutch at her arm. He finally managed a word. “Fiendfyre.”

“Yes?” Fleur said. “I can do it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Destroy…Horcrux,” he said, and she understood. She didn’t have long to contemplate it, though: the werewolf gave a second convulsive shudder and looked up, its eyes alert again. She had managed to drag Bill less than five feet away.

In the split second before it lunged towards them, Fleur threw the cup at it, then whipped her wand forward. Fire, yellow and pernicious, roared towards werewolf and cup, engulfing them in seconds. It ate at wall and floor, too, hungry tongues quickly spreading. Fleur gave up on dragging Bill and simply levitated him, pushing him ahead of her as she ran.

She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the woods again. Behind her, the Lestrange house had become a column of fire, casting an eerie light over the lake. Bill whimpered as she brought him to rest on the grass. His shoulder was a ruin, torn and soaked in blood. Fleur whispered the best healing spell she knew, but it wouldn’t hold. Tears blurred him out.

“Get me to a hospital,” Bill gasped. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be a werewolf,” she said, her voice choked.

“So what?” he said. He was trying to be nonchalant, but his voice was too weak. “There are worse monsters out there. Know a bloke who makes a fine Wolfsbane Potion.” His voice gave out, and Fleur leaned down to kiss his forehead, a sob bubbling out of her throat. She took a deep breath, and finally looked at him without flinching, forcing herself to remain steady.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll take you in.”

 

* * *

Fleur took her first breath of English air. Beside her, Bill smiled grimly. His shoulder was still heavily bandaged, but it was on the mend, thanks to the Healers. The consequences of that night would revisit him every month for the rest of his life, though.

Not that they would leave Fleur alone, either. The morning after the fire, the body of Ranulf Lestrange had been recovered from the house, charred almost beyond recognition. The fire had spread beyond the house, as well, destroying a field before anyone had been able to contain it. Ranulf’s brothers, Rabastan and Rodolphus, had been enraged, and a hefty bounty had been set on the head of whoever had killed him.

That meant, like it or no, Fleur was now a renegade, too. She had made a decision for a single night, but she had never quite imagined that she would be plunged into fighting a losing war.

She was still coming to terms with that, just as Bill was still coming to terms with his condition.

“Welcome home,” Bill said, a wry twist to his mouth. “It’s not going to be fun.”

Fleur looked up at him, surprised. She had expected he would be happy to return home. “But worth it?” she ventured.

“Yeah,” Bill said, sliding his arm around her waist. “Worth it.”

And  _that,_  she thought, was a definite perk.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Tennyson's "The Lady of Shallott."


End file.
